Caro Comedenti
by ulaer
Summary: Christine King was born in Beacon Hills, but moved away when she was just a child. Returning to her home town, nearly fully grown, what has happened to her town? Who were the "Caro Comedenti"? And what's happened to her friends? Can she figure out what's plaguing her town, and help stop it? Or will she ultimately decide to help the enemy? Tune in to find out!


{This is a new, and better version! I now have a proofreader! Hopefully it reads a bit better now! - Sam)

It was a pleasant evening, hues of blue and pinks streaked across the sky as the sun dipped under the horizon. A gentle, warm breeze moved through the town of Beacon Hills. The approach of nightfall cast a hit of chill through the air making the temperature toe the line of hot and cold. Humming to its own tune, a truck, old and rusted, rattled its way through the quiet streets. It was a deep red Chevy 1970 C10, sturdy for its age, with blooms of rust along the fender; plumes of smoke occasionally coughed out of the exhaust pipe. The truck jostled side to side as it rolled into the driveway of a small but cosy looking house. It was less extravagant than the other houses in the neighbourhood; one story and vacant. Though it had been left alone for a number of years, it was not neglected or abandoned. With a little cleaning it would be a comfortable abode again.

As the truck bounced and sputtered to a stop, the young lady asleep with her face pressed against the glass was startled back into reality. "He-whaa?" she stammered as she wiped the drool from her chin. She stretched as much as she could in the crowded passenger seat, the older woman behind the wheel chuckled with a deep, cheery tone. 

"Welcome back to the realm of the living, hon." The two women were similar in appearance, as mother and daughter usually are. They both shared high cheekbones and softly tanned skinned skin. The older woman's hair was long and dark, swept back in a loose bun near the base of her skull. Her face told a story, seemingly ageless yet with lines that told of her journey as a generally happy soul. She leaned over and gently gave her daughter a shake on the shoulder. "Come on now, Chrissy. Wake up. We're here." 

Chrissy was short for Christine. Her mother would usually call her that or Chris. As similar as she was to her mother there were a few distinct differences between the them. Christine had platinum blonde hair in a short, boyish cut. Below her bottom lip she had a labret piercing adorned with a spiked stud. She was also taller than her mother, who was a generous 5'10, but she towered above her at 6'0.

"Okay...I'm up..."

Her mother gently grasped her hand and smiled before turning the engine off and exiting the truck. Christine peered out the Chevy's window at the house, trying to decide whether or not she should have a few more minutes of her nap. She hadn't known exactly what she expected upon arriving but this wasn't it. She had been told this was her childhood home, and it did hold an air of familiarity to it... A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips as she watched her mom waiting, looking up at the house like an old friend. She sighed, deciding to give it a chance. 

She yawned, stretching once more, before she slid out of the passenger seat and joined her mother staring up at the house. They wrapped their arms around each other's waists, giving one another a purposeful nod. They walked to the front door, completely in-sync. Chrissy's mom placed the key into the lock and, after applying a little elbow grease, the door swung open. They entered the threshold and her mother turned to her.

"Welcome home, baby."

Two weeks passed and they had worked hard cleaning to making the house feel more like a home. The living room was the closest to being finished, with only a few boxes in the corner that required attention. Christine lazed on the couch, her legs up the wall, an encyclopaedia of palaeontology in her hands. It was another pleasant day, warmer than it had been all spring. She swung her legs down and sat up. As she straightened her spine in cracked and popped all the way from top to bottom. "Oooo... that didn't sound good..." She grimaced, rubbing the back of her neck. She stood up and looked around the living room. She gave a fond shake of her head and small snicker as she noticed her mom had placed a small table cloth over the boxes in the corner and placed a lamp on top. She then made her way to the front door, grabbing her backpack from behind it.

"I'm gonna explore. See ya later, mom!" 

She opened the door and darted outside before her mom could reply. The longer she had been here, the more familiar it became. Of course, everything seemed a lot bigger in her memories. She was barely ten years old when her mom packed them up and they moved to Minnesota. Her mother was of the Ojibwa Tribe so they went to the White Earth Reservation to start a new life. Chrissy grew up there and enjoyed every minute of it. 

During her life on the res, she found she had a knack for growing things. When they decided to move back to Beacon Hills, Chrissy brought that skill with her. In the short time they'd lived there, she'd already bought and planted vegetable seedlings. 

As she explored, her mind wandered to her father. As told by her mother, was a Sergeant the army, born and raised in Minnesota. Their romance was passionate... passionate enough to bring Christine into the world. Unfortunately, it was cut short when her father was called out to war. Of course, this meant he was never home. He was killed in action two years after Chrissy was born and she asked about her father often. It became obvious to her that it was quite possible her father never even knew about her. Her mother never said much about him but always said that she had her father's perseverance and intelligence. But, most of all, his eyes. Unlike her mother's warm hazel eyes, Christine's were a greyish blue; stark and observant. 

When her mind eventually returned to the present she quietly laughed at herself. She had absent mindedly traced the way back to her old friend's house like a plane on autopilot. (Could also be something similar to: 'like a homing pigeon, 'like a pre-programmed robot', 'like a sleep walking child', 'like she was guided by an invisible pull of a string', etc...) She didn't remember much about the place, but she remembered this girl. Her name was Allison Argent. They had clicked as soon as they met. As children they used to play with Allison's archery set for hours on end. They were both very competitive and in no time they became very skilled at it. Reminiscing with an affectionate smile, she decided she may as well say hello. She guessed it would be awkward if Allison or her parents didn't remember her... but she felt they would. From what she could remember, Allison didn't have many friends growing up either. 

Chrissy strode up to the house and knocked on the crisp white door. She took a few steps back, a pang of nervousness running up her spine. Before she could think too much about it, the door opened. Chris Argent stood in the doorway. He looked much older than she remembered. There was a few days growth on his face and neck, his clothes clean and non-descriptive. He looked tired and there was a distant, exhausted look in his eyes that wasn't there when she was a child. Mr. Argent had been the father figure to her when she lived there, understanding her better than most. His family often babysat Christine while her mother was working. 

"I'm not buying—" Mr. Argent grumbled, starting to dismiss his guest before looking up. When he saw her, is eyes widened in both confusion and shock. "Who...?" His eyes became slits as he examined her, bells going off in his head, ringing of familiarity, but no name came to mind. "Who are you?"

Christine swallowed her nerves, which had grown with Mr. Argent's initial gruff greeting, and cleared her throat. "My name is Christine King... I used to be good friends with your daughter Allison when I was a kid." She paused for a moment, as Mr. Argent's face showed no more emotion that it had before. Clearing her throat once again, she continued. "I lived here years ago - I was only ten, I think - and I've just moved back and I wanted to say hello..." Her voice trailed off as she waited silently for Mr. Argent's response. A tense moment passed before his previously cold face warmed, a sad smile wrinkling his stubbled face.

"I remember you now..." His eyes dropped. "Come on in... there's something I need to tell you."

Christine's brows furrowed in mild confusion, but she did as she was asked. The house was nearly the same as it was all those years ago. Different pictures, and a few different ornaments here and there, but it was definitely the home she remembered. Letting her memory serve her, she moved slowly into the living room, Mr. Argent following close behind. "Please, have a seat." He murmured.

Christine nodded, and sat on the edge of the sofa, crossing her legs. Mr Argent paced for a few seconds before he sat down in the armchair directly across from the sofa. She remembered back to the days when he would sternly, but kindly, lecture her for being too reckless or something else of that nature. This scenario felt strangely the same.

He inhaled deeply, before exhaling with a sigh. "I'm sorry Christine... Allison..." He paused to compose himself, choking on his daughter's name. "Allison has passed away." Christine couldn't believe it, her mouth gaped open as the information processed. "I-I'm...so s-sorry..." Her voice cracked with emotion. She didn't keep in contact with Allison over the years, but she was still a friend to her. She brought her eyes back to her friend's father, and a realization hit her. The tired, sad look in his eye, why there were no pictures of Allison around... She had died _recently_. (This part is a little rushed. Add some more to the scene then start a new paragraph.)

Christine quickly got to her feet and bowed her head slightly. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Argent... I'll leave now. I'm sorry for disturbing you." As she turned to head out of the door, she took a crinkled receipt from her back pocket. Using the pen she always had in her jacket, she scrawled her name and number on it and placed it on the table. "If you need anything... please, let me know." She opened the door but paused on her way out. Looking back, she saw the man who was once like a father to her sitting in his chair, head resting heavily on his fist. His face was stoic as tears ran down his cheeks. "Goodbye, Mr. Argent." She whispered and quietly shut the door behind her. 

She had no way of knowing how that small piece of paper was the catalyst that would change her life as she knew it.


End file.
